


Wishful Thinking

by Sodalitefully



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Multi, Pre-Slash, after the first two things are gonna get really fluffy, chapter 13 is explicit the others aren't really, is it weird to use the term 'canon' in rpf?, like REALLY fluffy and pretty sluffy as well, most of these were requests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodalitefully/pseuds/Sodalitefully
Summary: A collection of my "canon"/non-AU GNR oneshots and drabbles, cross-posted from tumblr.
Relationships: Axl Rose/Izzy Stradlin, Axl Rose/Slash | Saul Hudson, Duff McKagan/Izzy Stradlin, Duff McKagan/Slash, Steven Adler/Duff McKagan
Comments: 26
Kudos: 48





	1. Slippery (Izzal)

**Author's Note:**

> A request and an early character study.

Izzy Stradlin is a slippery guy. Not literally of course, just, hard to get a hold on, you know? Axl would know, he’s known Izzy since they were kids and he’s seen it a hundred times: He’ll be deep in conversation with someone, then all of a sudden he’ll smoothly excuse himself and vanish before they know what happened. He’ll be playing with a band and then all of a sudden he won’t return any of their calls. He’ll be your closest friend for years and then all of a sudden he’ll split for California. 

See? Slippery. 

A lesser-known (but related) fact about Izzy is that he’s susceptible to, well, _crushes_. Big-city life suits him, suits his habit of constantly meeting new people, getting to know them a bit, then moving on without ever really giving any of himself away. But just because these interactions are fleeting, doesn’t mean Izzy doesn’t get invested. 

Just when Axl thinks Izzy must know every person on the scene, Izzy will show up with a skip in his step and say, “I met this girl today, she looked _just_ like Debbie Harry,” (she didn’t, not unless you drank five beers and then squinted) or “I met this guy who says he has a guitar that used to belong to Eric Clapton,” (Izzy didn’t even _like_ Eric Clapton) or “One of my new neighbors has _blue hair,_ have you ever seen that before?” (then Izzy had the gall to invite this kid to jam with them – yeah, okay, he was good but that’s not the _point_ ). It’s the same every time: Izzy will fawn over some nobody for a few days (yes, he does _fawn,_ he might not be the most outspoken of people but he gets this blushy look when he’s obviously thinking of them and it’s annoying as hell) while Axl watches and grits his teeth and resists the urge to start throwing furniture. 

But if Izzy is slippery, then Axl is tenacious. When he gets his claws in someone, he’s not letting go, he can’t afford to. Axl and Izzy have stuck together for years, and Izzy’s fleeting little _infatuations_ might make Axl want to stick his head in wet concrete so he doesn’t have to see or hear Izzy put his hands all over some oblivious kid’s bass for another second, but they’re not enough to tear them apart. Not enough to get Axl to relax his hold because he _knows_ Izzy, knows him better than anyone else. 

After a while, Izzy will inevitably lose interest and slip away from them like he does best. Izzy will stop calling them, stop jamming with them, forget about them and go back to spending time with Axl, who can smile again now that everything is back as it should be, the universe is in order and Izzy is by his side.


	2. "Please don't go" (Slaxl)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request with the prompt "Please don't go."

Only the shallowest of breaths pass through Axl’s parted lips, yet the empty bedroom is filled with the sound of his voice. His own husky, desperate, choking voice, spitting at him from every corner of the room, chanting, echoing those same three words: 

“ _Please don’t go_.”

When he’d gotten off the phone with Doug Goldstein, Axl was tempted to tear the cord out of the wall and smash the set to pieces on the floor instead of letting the receiver rest in its cradle. Now he wishes he’d done it, wishes he’d let himself scream and smash and maybe then he wouldn’t be forced to look at the phone on his bedside table and hear the tinny sound of his own voice on the line pleading _please don’t go_. 

He wishes that he’d totaled his car, that he’d gotten drunk, wrapped it around a telephone pole, and then had his license taken away for good measure so that he wouldn’t hear _please don’t go_ in the clinking of the keys on his dresser, begging him to tear across town ( _please don’t go_ in the squeal of his tires, the gritting of his teeth, his racing heartbeat) before it’s too late to fix his world as it falls apart around him.

He can hear himself typing _please don’t go_ on the keyboard of the computer he hardly knows how to use, he can hear the scratch of a pen on piece of paper, the whine of a fucking fax machine, a dozen different ways to breathe life into the words that he feels in every lonely, desperate fiber of his being.

Axl hears himself say _“please don’t go”_ a hundred times in his mind, but the words never escape his lips to reach the ears that need to hear them.

~~~~~~

Making that phone call had felt like a shot of heroin. Brief discomfort (Slash fucking hated talking to Doug), followed by immediate, enormous relief. All the shit that had been weighing on him about the band was gone in an instant, all of his troubles vanished into the air. The solution was so simple, he could hardy remember why he’d fought it for so long.

Unlike heroin, the high lasted for days. Slash felt like a freed man as he did his rounds, telling his friends and family and lawyers about his decision without a hint of uncertainty. He was full of ideas for new projects, plans to get himself back on the road as soon as possible. Nothing could hold him back.

Almost. 

There was still one fragile thread binding him to Guns N’ Roses, one small part of him that was waiting for the shoe to drop. Slash was dead serious about leaving the band behind for good, he wasn’t the type to do something he didn’t mean. But loathe as he was to admit it, he knew he wasn’t completely free. 

_“Please don’t go.”_

Slash knew damn well that if Axl came to him and said those words, he would have no choice but to drag himself back to the band, back to the institution that Guns N’ Roses had become, but most importantly, back to Axl himself. 

Axl, who Slash could never develop an immunity to, even in the most venomous phases of their relationship. No matter how many weeks, months, years passed, Slash wasn’t sure that he could ever resist if Axl asked for him to stay, pleading on his lips but with the assurance in his eyes that by his side was the only place Slash belonged, forever.

But those weeks, months, and years did pass, and Slash never heard so much as a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until, of course, he did.


	3. Movie Night (Stuff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was “You’re legally obliged to keep holding me.”

Duff didn’t realize just how homesick he was until he found himself under a blanket on Slash’s couch, with Slash and Steven curled up next to him and a cheesy horror movie flickering on the TV.

It felt like ages since he’d last did something so platonically intimate, something that didn’t have anything to do with bands or drugs or money, just hanging out with new friends. Slash and Steven had so easily let Duff into their lives, and he really couldn’t overstate how much easier his transition to LA became once he met them. 

Slash was pressed into the far corner of the couch, his head obscured completely by his hair as he laid on the armrest with one leg curled up against his chest, and the other stretched out on the floor in front of him. Despite being the one to pick the movie, Duff was pretty sure that Slash had dozed off at least half an hour ago. 

Steven, on the other hand, was glued to the screen. He was curled up in a ball under the blanket, with his feet tucked between the couch cushions and his head resting on Duff’s shoulder. Or at least, that’s where he started at the beginning of the movie: during the opening credits, Duff had one arm on the back of the sofa and the other on the armrest, but by the third act, things had gradually shifted until Steven was half in his lap, leaning back on Duff’s chest, with both of Duff’s arms wrapped around him. 

It was nice, Duff couldn’t help thinking. Sure, it was a little more… intimate than he was used to being with his friends, but it had been months since he’d last been able to enjoy simple human contact like this. He’d slept with plenty of girls in LA, yeah, but this was different, more comfortable and without all the expectations. Though Steven did look almost as pretty as those girls, now that Duff had the chance to really look at his friend. His blue eyes were impossibly wide, his curly hair looked almost white in the light from the TV, and his lips were just barely parted… 

Shit. Duff was making it weird, wasn’t he? He couldn’t risk Steven freaking out and kicking Duff out of his life because he caught Duff staring at him during the movie – god forbid if Duff’s body decided to sabotage him by popping a boner with Steven in his lap. He started to remove his arms, trying to play it cool like he’s just stretching and not on the verge of a gay panic, but his attempt was foiled by a yank on his forearm. 

“Nope. I’m comfy, and that means you’re legally obliged to keep holding me,” Steven announced with much authority, despite the whisper he had to use so as not to disturb Slash. Duff gave in with an endeared sigh, and went back to cuddling Steven, holding him even closer than before. Maybe it was weird, but there was no place he’d rather be in that moment, and no person he would rather be with.


	4. Sweetie (Duzzy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts were “You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know,” and “You’re talking too much, just shut up and hold me”.

“Sweetie, are you ready for me to turn off the light?” Duff asks, stretching out his arm to reach the lamp on the bedside table without removing himself from the warmth of his lover’s body pressed against his side.

Instead of answering the question, Izzy looks up at him wearing the face that means he’s pondering something. To the untrained eye, this expression looks a lot like a glower, but Duff knows better; he watches the gears turn and waits for Izzy to spit out whatever’s on his mind.

“You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know,” Izzy informs him, and Duff laughs.

“Yeah, I should _hope_ so, Izzy. Since I’m your _boyfriend_ and all.” 

“No, I mean none of my old girlfriends got to call me sappy pet names like that. Just ‘babe,’ or maybe ‘honey’ if they wanted something…”

“Aww, are you saying I’m special?”

“I’m saying I let you get away with a lot,” Izzy smirks. “Special is one way to put it, I didn’t even know it was possible to be as sappy as you… I didn’t know it was possible for _me_ to be as sappy as you make me sometimes. You must be rubbing off on me…”

Duff rolls his eyes at him and switches off the light. He knows exactly what topic Izzy is dancing around (four letters, starts with ‘L’…) but he doesn’t need to press to understand what Izzy feels. Instead he sinks into his arms with a contented sigh.

“You’re talking too much, Izzy. Just shut up and hold me.”


	5. Expressive (Sluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was “Hey, stop looking at me like that– I don’t like how cute you look.”

“Duff, dude, you were so fucking cool today! I mean you’re always awesome on stage, and then after –" After the show, the owner of the venue had been reluctant to give the band their hard-earned cash, but Duff set him straight. “– So badass, man. You make it look easy being that fuckin’ cool all the time, I don’t know how you do it.” Slash leans forward on the peeling laminate countertop in Duff’s tiny kitchen, rattling a glass of ice cubes and condensation as he gushes.

“Yeah, well, I think you’re pretty cool too,” Duff tells him, and he means it: Slash is a monster on the guitar, he’s got effortless style, and besides his stage fright he’s one of the boldest people Duff knows. But Slash’s enthusiastic praise is making him uncomfortable, so he grabs the empty glass out of Slash’s hand and tuns to the fridge. “How about another drink?”

When he finishes pouring them each a fresh screwdriver, he turns around to see Slash watching him, his fingers buried in his hair to keep the curls out of his face. He’s looking up at Duff with an expression that Duff can only describe as _soft,_ and _warm,_ and it makes Duff feel like he’s standing under a searing spotlight without an instrument. His heart speeds up, his mouth feels dry, he shuffles his feet as he hands Slash his drink; there’s too much attention on him and he doesn’t know what to do. 

“Dude, stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Slash’s look of… Contentedness? Rapture? _Adoration?_ Fuck – it’s replaced by one of surprise, thank god. 

“Like, _that,_ I don’t know –” Slash’s head tilts like it always does when he doesn’t get something (since when has Duff paid so much attention to his friend’s body language?) and damn, his look of confused concern isn’t much better. Peering up at Duff from under slightly furrowed brows, his lips falling into a perfect little ‘o’… “– You’re doing it again, quit it.” 

“You don’t like the way I’m looking at you?” 

Jesus, with a pout like that Slash has gotta be putting him on, there’s just no way! Duff doesn’t like to be messed with, and for a moment his frustration bubbles over.

“I don’t like how _cute_ you look! I mean –" Duff’s face flushes cherry red, and it’s not from the vodka. “Just, that thing you always do, with your eyes, and, uh, your face…" 

“You think I’m cute?” Slash echoes. He’s doing a poor job of hiding his dismay, and it’s _not_ Duff’s fault that he starts thinking of kicked puppies. “Well damn, Duff, you don’t have to say I’m cool just to make me feel better. I mean, I know we can’t all –" 

“No, no, it’s not like that! I didn’t mean it in a bad way!”

“But you don’t like it.” Duff is at a loss for how to fix the mess he made by putting his foot in his mouth. “I can try to stop?” Slash offers, even though he still doesn’t really know what _thing_ Duff is talking about. 

“I’m starting to think you _can’t,_ ” Duff muses; Slash seems too guileless to be playing with him, could that really just be his natural expression? But Slash proves that he can: he untangles his hand from his hair and a wall of curls cascades down, once again hiding his face and leaving Duff with the hollow sensation of a loss he can’t quite pinpoint. 

_Fuck._


	6. Making Dinner (Slaxl)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was “Yeah, yeah. You’re cute. Just stop smiling at me like that.” Despite the similar theme, this isn't meant to be a direct sequel to the previous chapter.

_“Cute?”_ Axl snorted. “Who’s telling you you’re cute, Slash? And what’s their eyeglass prescription?”

How did they even get into this ridiculous conversation? Axl was just minding his own business, trying to come up with some song lyrics on the couch, when Duff tumbled down the stairs saying he was going to make dinner even though there was nothing but beer and stale Cheetos in their kitchen and Slash trotted after him, planted his ass on the kitchen counter, and claimed he was “helping.”

Slash shot Axl a skeptical look from across the room.

“Um, _everybody_ thinks I’m cute. People tell me all the time. Like, that brunette at the bar last night said I was cute, and then her blonde friend agreed… and that guy they were with definitely thought so too, I could just _tell._ ” 

“Uh huh, sure.”

“Ax! I’m not making that up! Come on, is this something I would brag about? I’m a _rocker_ , I’m not trying to be cute on purpose! Hell, even Duff thinks I’m cute!” 

Slash waved his whole arm in the direction of their bassist, who was busy attempting to make mac and cheese without milk, butter or a mixing spoon.

“Huh?” Duff tried to turn when he heard his name, but only succeeded in whacking his head on the hood of the range – this happened often, since the hood was not designed for people over six feet and he had to awkwardly hunch over to just see what he was cooking. “Oh. Uh, yeah. He’s cute.” 

_Seriously?_ Were Slash and Duff trying to pull his leg or something? This was bullshit.

“Well… we all know Duff needs glasses.” 

“Do not!”

“He’s _farsighted!”_ Slash cries exasperatedly, “And that’s not the point!”

“Well, what is the point? Why do you want me to think you’re cute?!”

“It’s not about what _you_ think, Axl, it’s just a fact of life, most people think I’m cute!”

“Slash, I’ve seen you passed out over a toilet bowl with piss on your jeans, you’re _not_ cute.”

**_“Hey –”_ **

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Duff slammed an open can of beer down on the counter – Dear God, was he going to put that in the mac and cheese? – and rounded the counter in two long strides. Slash squeaked as Duff scooped him off the countertop and dropped him on the couch next to Axl. Duff hands disappeared in the jungle of Slash’s curls as Duff grabbed his head and dragged him in front of Axl’s face.

_“Look at this, and tell me he’s not cute.”_

Trapped against the armrest, Axl nearly had to cross his eyes as he reluctantly examined Slash’s face. Duff’s fingers were squishing Slash’s cheeks, and his lips stuck out in a disgruntled pout. He tried halfheartedly to squirm out of Duff’s hold, then gave up with a huff that made a couple wispy curls puff up in front of his face and float back down onto his nose. _“Duff…”_ Slash whined, trying to look up to where Duff hovered over his head, but only succeeding in making his eyes rounder and his accentuating his long eyelashes and _fucking hell they were right._

“Okay, _fine!”_

Duff dropped Slash’s face and threw his hands in the air as he marched back to the kitchen. “ _Thank you!_ See, I’m not crazy! And I _don’t_ need glasses!” 

Unfortunately, Slash didn’t elect to remove himself from Axl’s personal space once he was released. Instead, he wore the smuggest smirk Axl had ever seen on him and insisted, “Fine, _what?”_

_“Fine, you’re cute,”_ Axl gritted out. There was no denying it now. Slash’s smirk grew into a full grin at Axl’s concession and ugh, even that was cute, how was Axl ever going to be able to unsee this? “…Just stop smiling at me like that!“

Naturally, Slash’s smile only got wider.

“Well, thank you Axl! I think you’re cute too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(Yeah, like an angry kitten. Duff! Doesn’t he look like an angry kitten?)_


	7. The Drunken Dream-Team (Sluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was “Please, stop smiling at me like that. I’m not sure what will happen if you keep doing that.”  
> Duff and Slash both overshare when they’re wasted…

You want to know how Slash and I got to be such good friends? Well, the first thing I gotta tell you is that he’s one of the nicest, coolest people I know, and he doesn’t deserve his shitty reputation, got it? The second thing, is that I was blown away when I first heard him play guitar and I wasn’t about to let a musical genius like _that_ walk out of my life. 

But the truth is (just between you and me, right?), there’s a third, final, and very important reason. You see… after Slash, Steven, the girls and I met, we hung out, jammed a little, then of course proceeded to get absolutely obliterated. And that’s when it happened: Drunk-Duff met Drunk-Slash and the world would never be the same. 

We’re the drunken dream-team. Smashed, sauced, and sloshed soulmates. The Dynamic Duo of gettin’ gazebo-ed. 

You get what I’m trying to say. 

It works out real well because our tolerance is about the same, and we both tend to be happy, affectionate drunks. We’re partners in crime for all kinds of insane intoxicated shenanigans, but we’ll also look after each other, you know? Or try to at least, _hah._

Last night though? Things were a little different. Slash got a head start on me, so instead of Drunk-Slash-and-Duff, it was Drunk-Slash and Just-Barely-Tipsy-Duff. Which was no problem, it was great! Er, it was totally fine! I mean –

… 

Okay… there’s something I didn’t tell you about me and Slash. It’s true that Drunk-Slash-and-Duff are the ultimate drinking buddy power couple. But sober? That’s another story.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re still best friends! Contrary to popular belief, we _do_ hang out and do stuff besides drinking and drugs. But there’s one key difference that even _Slash_ never knew about, and that is that Sober-Duff has, well, a huge fuckin’ crush on Slash.

Hey, don’t fucking judge me, dude! …He’s just a really awesome guy, okay? And good looking. I dig the hair.

Ahem.

Anyway, it could be a real problem when we were _both_ sober, because I really had be on my toes to make sure he didn’t catch me staring or anything, you know? It’s like, I couldn’t relax because then I might start to slip up and that could mess up everything: our friendship, the band… man, I don’t even want to think about it. 

But when Slash was drunk, I had nothing to worry about! He never noticed when I zoned out staring at his ass – thank god, because it’s happened a _lot_. And Drunk-Slash-and-Duff might be all about the platonic cuddling, but on these special occasions I get to appreciate Slash at his clingiest in a more romantic-kinda-way. I also get to appreciate how giggly he gets: I’m a sap, I know, but just seeing him smile makes me feel like I just did a whole line of shots so whenever this happens I always pull out all the stops trying to keep him in good humor.

So there I was, telling Slash every lame joke I could think of, pulling stupid faces, generally acting like a total goofball and trying to make him laugh. And it was working! Slash was a giggly mess, and I figured it was time to give us both a break. I watched him compose himself from the corner of my eye as I chugged the rest of my beer. Even in the dim light of the bar, I managed to get lost in his dark eyes as he looked at me with an exasperated smirk.

“ _Duff!_ Stop smiling at me like that!” He whined, and oops, I guess I let my gaze linger a little too long.

“What? Whyyy?” I pitched my voice up to match his tone.

“Because…” He dropped into a drunkenly serious whisper. _“…I’m not sure what’ll happen if you keep doing that.”_

Wait. What?

Was he saying what I thought he was saying? It’s not just me, right? It _definitely_ sounded like he was… _implying_ something.

But before I could ask him what he meant, another round of drinks appeared on the table and Slash was back to his cheery, thirsty self in the blink of an eye. I gotta admit, I was just as distracted by the booze – I was trying to catch up, after all – so I forgot about what he said until about twenty minutes later. 

I was back on my bullshit and better than ever – I managed to get Slash to laugh just as he was about to take a swig of his beer, he snorted into the glass and suds flew everywhere! Both of us were still laughing our heads off as he whacked me in the arm and tried to find a napkin to clean himself up. Once he got the foam off his face I was determined to make him do it again: every time he tried to take a sip I’d repeat the same stupid punchline and he’d have to quickly duck away from his glass to avoid getting beer up his nose.

After my fourth or fifth attempt, Slash suddenly bounced up from his seated position to kneel on the seat of the booth so I was forced to look up at his face as he poked a scolding finger into my chest. 

“I thought I told you to knock it off!”

I just laughed, it was hard to take him seriously when he was pouting like that. “I dunno what you’re talking about!” 

“Nuh-uh, don’t play dumb because I know I told you to quit it! I’m jus’tryna get drunk here and you won’t stop distracting me!”

“Well then _make me,”_ I teased.

For a split second, I thought that Slash lost his balance and was falling into me, so I put my hands up to catch him. But then, I felt his mouth on my lips.

I was stunned into helplessness as his tongue thrust between my teeth and overwhelmed my mouth. I’d wanted this for so long that I couldn’t understand it; the kiss was deep and fast and it was over before I could bring myself to lean into him and suck the taste of whiskey and cheap beer off his lips.

As I tried to catch my breath, I realized that my hands were still planted on Slash’s chest, I was practically groping him. I tried to slide my arms out of the way but at that moment, Slash decided to swing one knee over my legs so that he was straddling my thighs. He sat in my lap and scooted all the way up until his ass was right over my crotch, then put his arms on my shoulders for balance, trapping me in place with my hards grabbing his tits and my thighs glued together so he might not notice my dick starting to poke him in the ass.

I stared up at him with my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open, wondering if I was dreaming… And if I wasn’t, would he remember this the next day? Would he still want to kiss me when the liquor wore off, or would he laugh it off like the rest of the bullshit he does when he’s wasted?

Slash seemed oblivious to the questions racing through my head. He just stared down at me with a little smile, and then leaned down again to plant another deliberate, chaste kiss. 

“Yeah, now you’re quiet. Where’s that grin, huh? Did you think trying to get a rise out of me wouldn’t have any consequences?” His tone was smug but his expression was still affectionate. 

“Slash, what –“ 

“Such a tease, acting all cute like that when you _know_ what it does to me. Fuck, even when you’re being a pain you’re still so sweet it’s unfair.” 

“What – What it _does??”_

“Were you trying to get me to confess? ‘Cause I was trying to keep it to myself, all right? I didn’t want to screw everything up but, y’know, it’s hard when you’re always smiling at me like that.” He bit his lip, hesitating. “And I’m already in your lap, so I guess I might as well…” He leaned down until his lips were brushing my ear, and whispered, “This is fun… but I’d rather be back at the hotel, just the two of us.” 

Forget dreaming, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

“Then let’s go,” I breathed, and Slash looked at me like he was genuinely surprised.

“Really? You want that? With me?”

“I’ve wanted that practically since we met, are you kidding?” I finally worked up the balls to stretch up and kiss him. He eagerly returned the kiss and then he slid out of the booth, tugging me after him as we hurried out of the bar. 

And the rest, as they say, is history! I have to keep some secrets, don’t I?

Huh, I guess I was lying before when I said the third reason was the _final_ reason. Actually, telling that story reminded me of a few more reasons if you know what I mean, hah!

Hey, you’ll keep all this between us, right? Yeah? Good, because I gotta go – Slash looks like he’s about to pass out on the pool table, I think it’s time to take him home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV: you were just trying to get a drink after the show but you picked the same bar as the band and somehow duff trapped you in a conversation about his relationship


	8. Snow Day (Sluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next few were originally written in bullet points, I fixed them up a little so hopefully they read ok as a ficlet.

“You know, I haven’t seen snow since I was four years old and living with my grandparents in England… I used to sit in the yard and make these fucked-up-looking little snow creatures until my grandmother resorted to bribing me with hot chocolate to make me come in from the cold.” 

Slash seemed nostalgic; sad, even. Duff knew his friend sometimes got homesick for England, but Slash rarely let it show. Duff resolved to come up with something to cheer him up, and did his best to push the image of tiny Slash playing in the snow to the back of his mind.

A couple weeks later, Duff thought he'd found a solution: “So… I had an idea the other day,” Duff started, already grinning in anticipation of Slash’s reaction. “I was thinking we could rent a place up in the Sierras for a couple days, maybe in January after I get back from Seattle?” 

Slash laughed. “Won’t you be sick of the snow after spending the holidays at your parents'?” But his face lit up when Duff proposed his idea, so Duff knew he was on the right track.

“Sick of snow? Never. Besides, my siblings always cream me in snowball fights, I need fresh, inexperienced competition.“

“Hey!” But Slash couldn’t be too offended, he was too excited about Duff’s idea: "Oh, and I’ve always wanted to try snowboarding!”

Of course he did, that fucking thrillseeker.

When the time came, they loaded up Duff’s truck and buckled in for five hours of going 15 mph over the speed limit, dropping cassettes between the seats, and Duff serenading Slash with made-up song lyrics. Once they reached the mountains, Duff had to get out and put chains on the tires while Slash tried to be helpful but was mostly just cold. 

When they finally arrived at the tiny, run-down cabin, they headed straight for the backyard. Duff scooped Slash up and dumped him in a snowbank, loose powder sprayed into the air and settled on Slash’s curls.

They spent over an hour fucking around in the snow, throwing it in each other’s faces, scrawling lewd graffiti in the frost on the windows, and constructing a makeshift sled run for the plastic saucer they found in the shed. They even experienced a brief flurry; Slash lit up like a little kid when the snowflakes started to flutter through the trees.

Eventually Duff slipped away to start some logs in the fireplace while Slash was busy assembling a small army of snow-zombies. Just as the fire started to roar, Slash appeared in the doorway, frozen stiff and covered in snow.

Duff snorted when he saw him. “You look like a powdered donut!”

“Yeah, well I feel like one of the frozen corpses on Mount Everest,” Slash announced, stomping his feet to shake off the clinging snowflakes but inadvertently looking like a petulant child. Duff grabbed one of the blankets he set out to warm up in front of the fireplace and tossed it at Slash’s head. Slash caught it and pressed his face into the warm wool. “Ohhh, that’s nice.” He draped the blanket on top of his head like a veil while he shed his coat and boots.

Slash joined Duff on the floor in front of the fireplace and Duff wrapped them both up in blankets carefully arranged for optimal warmth. Slash tipped his head sideways to lean on Duff’s shoulder, like he so often did; normally Duff would take the opportunity to pull Slash a little closer and hope his friend didn’t notice his heartbeat starting to race, but this time he yelped and squirmed away. “Jesus, Slash, your ears are freezing!“

“I fuckin’ told you I was cold,” Slash mumbled into the blanket, but he shifted into a position that spared Duff any contact with his cold skin. He ended up practically in Duff’s lap, and wondered for a moment if maybe he was taking their usual touchy-feely platonic intimacy a little too far. But Duff didn’t seem to mind; he reached out to tuck an arm around Slash’s chest, holding him in place, so Slash allowed himself to relax and enjoy the warm, comfortable position.

Duff was enjoying himself as well, Slash was practically purring in his lap. He twirled his fingers in his friend’s hair, chatting about what else they might do on their weekend getaway, until finally he realized that Slash had dozed off. 

There was no way that Duff was going to disturb his nap, even if it meant that Duff was now pinned down in their little nest on the floor. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was feeling pretty sleepy too…

After some consideration, Duff carefully shifted Slash from his lap to the floor and lay down next to him. He rested his head on Slash’s chest like a pillow, threw an arm around his waist and tangled their legs, then closed his eyes and let the rise and fall of Slash’s slow breathing lull him to sleep.


	9. Bonnie and Clyde (Sluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was for a romantic rooftop date!

Look, Slash isn’t exactly a romantic. Duff _knows_ this. He knows that Slash would be perfectly happy watching the same movie for the 20th time cuddled up together on the couch with microwave dinners. But Duff… well, he would never admit it but Duff is a romantic. He figures that if someone doesn’t expect romance, that’s all the more reason to prove to them that they deserve it.

There’s no doubt in Duff’s mind that Slash deserves all the romance in the world, but the question is how to give it to him? Slash gets shy when Duff is too mushy about his feelings, he gets twitchy in fancy, uptight places, and he doesn’t like big surprises. So basically anything that’s ever happened in a romance movie is off the table (and _no,_ Duff totally didn’t watch hours of romance movies searching for inspiration…).

The rooftop is perfect. Simple and a little sleazy, but still undeniably romantic. If he times it right, they can even watch the sunset together, the ultimate romantic cliche. 

It starts off smoothly: Slash is all for it (though mostly because they’re technically trespassing) and Duff packs a blanket for cuddling and some treats for them to share. The sun is just starting to sink below the horizon when things go to shit.

The owner of the building shows up and starts shouting that he’s going to call the cops on them if they don’t scram. While Duff is trying not to freak out about how to salvage their date, Slash starts yelling back at the guy and shit, now they really better get out of here.

They’re berated all the way down the stairwell, and once they get to the ground they sprint over to Duff’s car and peel outta there, leaving the furious owner glaring after them in the parking lot.  
They’re barely around the block when they hear sirens – _close_ sirens, those can’t possibly be for them, can they? Slash stops cackling in the passenger seat, he looks at Duff with huge eyes. Duff’s heart is beating like a bass drum. A squad car with flashing lights rounds the corner and Slash pounds Duff’s shoulder: “Fucking step on it, man!!”

Slash, that thrill-seeking son of a bitch, is having the _time of his life _as they try to lose their tail without escalating the situation into a high speed chase, and Duff has to admit that his excitement is contagious – that’s part of what drew him to Slash in the first place, after all.__

__It takes about 20 minutes to shake the fuzz, after that they navigate LA traffic for another half hour just to be sure, and then finally they pull into a grimy diner parking lot, elated over their victory._ _

__“Holy fuck, I think we did it!” Relieved laughter, a high five, “We showed them! Like fucking Bonnie and Clyde, baby!”_ _

__“Bonnie and Clyde?” Slash bites his lip and leans across the center console into Duff. “Y’know, that’s kinda _romantic…”__ _

__(Of course, _of course_ Slash would find that romantic! What was Duff doing, wasting his time on the Hallmark channel when he should have been watching action romances all along!) _ _

__“You think so?” He tilts his head down and Slash closes the gap, smiling into the kiss that turns into a quick, hungry makeout in the parking lot._ _

__Eventually the prospect of a greasy early dinner sounds appealing enough that they separate just long enough to get out of the car. Duff wraps an arm around Slash’s waist and Slash sneaks kisses against Duff’s shoulder, one of his favorite spots when they’re in public and he can’t just pull Duff’s face down for a kiss on the lips._ _

__They sit side by side in a corner booth, order more fried food than they can eat and play the most obnoxious songs they can find on the diner’s janky little jukebox…and in the end Duff gets his romantic cliche after all: Slash agrees to share a chocolate malt with two straws._ _


	10. Fooling Around (Sluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was for sluff slow dancing :)

“Hey, hey, stop here for a second…”

Duff frowned. “You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

“Nah, 'course not,” Slash slurred as he came to a stop in front of a bar – not the same bar they just left, but a different one a couple blocks away, one with a quietly despondent atmosphere; the kind of bar you’d visit if you knew your wife was cheating on you but you couldn’t work up the balls to confront her about it… or something like that, anyway. Through the open door they could see a neon Budweiser sign flickering behind a balding bartender, and 70s soft rock trickled out onto the sidewalk. “Just need a breather…”

Duff wasn’t about to argue, his vision was still swimming a little from that last shot… maybe the last two or three.

Slash propped himself up against the building’s brick wall and stared at the ground for about ten seconds before this head popped back up suddenly.

“Duff! Duff, I _love_ this song!”

Duff’s head listed as he focused on the faint notes, then giggled. “No you don’t, last time it came on the radio you rolled your eyes outta your head and changed the station!”

“Well, I changed my mind! Last time was right after I got dumped, Duff, _now_ this is the best song ever!”

“What’s got you feeling all lovey-dovey then?” Duff leaned over to sing in Slash’s ear: “I must’ve been through ‘bout a million girls…”

“Oh God, you’re butchering it, Duff.”

_“I’d love ‘em and I’d leave ‘em alone!”_ Duff raised his voice as he dragged Slash fully upright and arranged them so that they were clinging to each other like teenagers at senior prom. He started swaying back and forth and made a mocking kissy face down at Slash. Slash made a complaining noise even as he let his hands settle on Duff’s back and matched his swaying. 

“Hey, if it’s the best song every you gotta do it right… right?” Duff teased. “Just imagine, there’s little colored lights, rose petals all around us, maybe we’re on a yacht…”

“Stop making fun of me,” Slash whined. He bumped his head against Duff’s chest in protest, then let it rest there. Without thinking, Duff lifted one of his hands up to bury his fingers gently in Slash’s hair, and Slash’s hands slid down to Duff’s hips. 

Slash’s drunkenness was starting to settle into warm drowsiness. He stifled a yawn and nuzzled his cheek into Duff’s collarbone, and Duff dropped his head to touch the crown of Slash’s head with the tip of his nose. As he breathed in the sweet scent of Slash’s shampoo and let the crooning lyrics wash over him, he almost could believe that he was spending this warm summer night with a lover on a romantic tropical getaway, maybe, dancing by the sea surrounded by fireflies instead of on the grimy streets of LA surrounded by mosquitoes. There would be candles everywhere, a salty breeze, he and Slash would taste each other’s fruity cocktails… 

Wait, he and Slash? Where did that come from? He’d never thought about Slash that way before… but he was too wrapped up in his little fantasy to dwell on the thought.

Absently, he murmured along with the song, “I fooled around and fell in love, I fooled around and fell in love…”

By the time the guitar solo came around, Duff’s passably graceful swaying had evolved into dizzy stumbling. His back hit the brick wall as Slash guided him against the side of the bar before he managed to fall and hurt himself. 

“Thanks,” Duff groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to quell the feeling that his head was still swaying even after his body had stopped. When he opened them again, he found himself looking straight into Slash’s eyes. They looked ocean-deep in the dim shadows his hair cast across his face, staring at Duff thoughtfully but not lacking their usual gleam of mischief. Slash smiled faintly as he held Duff’s head in his hands and leaned in slowly until their lips met. 

Slash didn’t pussy around on first kisses, Duff never knew that a kiss could be so heated even without any tongue. It was long and deliberate and somehow it left Duff feeling both blissfully intoxicated and at the same time more sober than he’d been all night. 

_“Oh,”_ was all Duff could think of to say.

“Yeah,” Slash agreed, wearing a pleased grin. Whatever he found buried beneath the bewilderment on Duff’s face must have been what he was looking for, because he didn’t hesitate to duck in for another kiss. 

“Let’s keep going, huh? I wanna get home as soon as possible.” From the heat in his gaze, it was pretty obvious what had Slash in such a hurry.  
They picked themselves up and started to head down the street, still leaning on each other to stay upright, but this time with hands at each other’s hips, stroking up and down their sides with fingers intertwining and their faces just a breath apart, a new relationship to explore ahead of them and the soulful fading notes of unexpected love drifting behind.


	11. Oversized T-shirts (Slaxl)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was for Axl wearing Slash's clothes.

Slash had been giving Axl _looks_ all night. And not just that night, but on and off for the past few weeks, ever since they’d gotten back on the road. 

They weren’t his usual lusty looks: heavy, heated eye contact that unfailingly led to one of them dragging the other to the nearest unoccupied bed or wall. No, these were sneaky, lingering glances, gentler than the usual eye-fucking, but also enigmatic like he knew something Axl didn’t. At this point, Axl had lost count of the times he’d spotted Slash’s mysterious little smile out of the corner of his eye. 

“Why are you always looking at me like that?” He asked bluntly as he and Slash toweled off after a post-gig shower in Slash’s hotel room. More often than not, the inner workings of Slash’s mind were a complete mystery to Axl, and he’d learned by now that it was best to be straightforward. 

“Like what?” Slash asked, tilting his head so that wet curls slid across his back. Axl was about 60% sure he was playing dumb. Maybe 70. 

“Like, you were staring at me for a long time when I was talking to Matt at soundcheck today, and _not_ like you were trying to telepathically proposition me like normal.” 

“Hm.” Slash seemed to be fondly recalling the event, but he wasn’t any more forthcoming. 

“So?” 

“So I was checking you out, Ax. You looked good. Those shorts really don’t hide much.” And _there_ was that familiar leer. 

“This was different though! You’ve been looking at me _different_ than usual lately,” Axl stressed.

“Well…” As Axl suspected, Slash knew exactly what he was getting at all along. “You’ve been wearing different stuff on stage. Those huge t-shirts with the tiny shorts, you know?” 

“Is there something wrong with my clothes?” 

_“No,_ Axl. It just… It takes me back to when we first met. Remember when you stayed at my mom’s place for a while and you’d always be wearing my clothes because you didn’t have shit, and they were all really loose on you?” 

“What?” 

“You don’t remember staying at my mom’s?“ 

“Shut _up,_ Slash.” Of course he remembered, but he didn’t know that teenaged Slash had been sneaking looks at him all the way back then. "They weren’t that big! You were just a kid!” 

“Yeah, and you were malnourished.” 

“Was not!” It was a blatant lie. 

“Sure, babe. Anyway, every time I see you on stage with your shirt slipping off your shoulder, wearing the world’s tiniest shorts, it just reminds me of you sitting on my bed in a shirt two sizes too big and a pair of boxers I outgrew when I was 16…" 

Axl was flushed bright red, but spared from further details when Duff pounded on the door so hard the hinges rattled. 

“We’re going out, are you guys coming or what?” he yelled. 

“Shit, Duff, they might be fucking,” Matt could also be heard speaking at a more reasonable volume on the other side of the door. 

“Fuck! Sorry if you guys were fucking! We’re going to a club down the street if you wanna come when you’re done!” Duff was still shouting loud enough to heard on the next floor, and Axl pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Jesus, just give us a minute, we’re coming! And not like that, you fucker!” Slash yelled back. More quietly, he asked Axl, “You’re coming with, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just let me grab a shirt from my room…” They were both still only half clothed after their shower. 

“Wear one of mine.” 

“Slash…” Axl rolls his eyes but Slash is already handing him a wadded up but mostly clean black t-shirt. “Seriously?” 

An expectant grin is his only response. 

Making a show of his exasperation, Axl pulled the soft cotton shirt over his head. The neck hung a bit loose, the sleeves reached his elbows, and the hem draped around his thighs, bunching up when he tucked the front into his jeans so he wouldn’t look like a five-year-old. 

“This shirt is big on you too, you know,” he grumbled. 

“Not as big as it is on you though.” Slash sounded very pleased with himself, and when Axl looked he found him with that same knowing smile and warm look in his eyes. 

Axl groused some more as Slash shrugged a leather jacket over his bare shoulders and led the way down to the lobby – _“I’m not even that much shorter than you, and I’m three years older! Just that stupid top hat making you look tall…”_ But he still relaxed into Slash’s side when he wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that's the last part I have lined up! I'll update whenever I have new material, but it won't be as frequent from here on out. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


	12. Stay the Night (Slaxl)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request was for slaxl, "I can't fall asleep without you."

Axl used to make fun of him for it – seriously, who let their groupies and hookers stay the night _every single time?_ During the day, the guitarist could be found knocked out in just about any situation one could think of, but Axl had never once seen Slash get a good night’s sleep without company. And despite the suffocatingly close quarters the band kept, it wasn’t until their relationship evolved into something more that Axl started to see Slash’s pattern of behavior in a different light. 

~~~ 

“Alright, come on, it’s about fucking time you got some sleep.” 

“Fiiiiine…” Slash sighed begrudgingly, but he let Axl drag him down the hall without further complaint. 

It took some fumbling to get the key out of his pocket and into the lock with Slash draped over his side, but on his third try Axl managed to get the door open and the pair fell into the room. He threw the key at the dresser and shoved Slash back onto the bed, wrestling with his shoes while Slash tried to tug his shirt over his head.

When Axl was finally satisfied that Slash was tucked snugly under the blankets, he dropped a kiss on the top of his head then got up and crossed the room, still fully dressed in his leather pants and oversized boots.

“Axl…? You’re not staying?” 

“Gotta go round up the rest of you drunk bastards, don’t I? I’ll be back in a bit, just go to sleep.” 

“But…” Slash trailed off as Axl rescued the room key from where it slid under the dresser then rummaged around the room for a coat and a pair of sunglasses. He thought that maybe Slash had followed his advice and dozed off, but just as he reached the door he heard his boyfriend speak up again: 

“I can’t fall asleep without you,“ he explained plaintively. 

“What do you mean? You’ve been awake for almost 17 hours, of course you can. Try to get as much sleep as you can before the flight tomorrow, okay?” He twisted the doorknob, flicked off the lights and stepped into the hallway, then hesitated and stuck his head back in the room. “Goodnight, Slash. I love you.” 

“’Love you too,” Slash echoed reluctantly as Axl finally pulled the door shut. 

His tone was a little worrisome, but Axl wasn’t going to keep Slash awake any longer to talk about it – if something was bothering him, they would have plenty of time to talk on the airplane. 

~~~ 

An hour later, Axl stomped out of the elevator before the doors even had time to open all the way. He was exhausted and grouchy and more than ready to call it a night. When he got closer to his and Slash’s shared room, he made a conscious effort to quiet his steps, unlocking the door as quietly as possible and opening it just wide enough to slip through so as not to wake Slash up with the light or the noise. 

Except Slash was not curled up on the bed, sleeping like an angel as Axl had hoped. Instead, he sat in a ball on the couch with his feet tucked between the cushions instead of under the sheets, and his bleary eyes fixed on the TV set. 

Axl was struck with a pang of irritation. “What are you doing? Slash, it’s 5AM!” They had to be out of the hotel by 11 the next morning and Axl knew damn well that Slash wouldn’t be able to sleep on the plane, so what the hell was he doing watching reruns of _The Jeffersons_ at dawn? 

Slash pried his gaze away from the screen and blinked at Axl slowly as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. He was obviously out of it, addled by sleep deprivation. 

“Axl?” 

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He tugged Slash up from the couch and guided him slowly back to the bed, wishing for about the hundredth time he was light enough for Axl to just carry.

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Really?” Slash let his heavy eyelids fall closed as soon as Axl was under the covers beside him. 

“It’s hard, when you’re not here. Bed’s too empty.” He reached out in the dark to wrap his arms around Axl and pull him close. Normally Axl needed a little more space when he was sleeping, but it had been a while since he’d indulged Slash in a cuddling night and he figured this was as good a time as any. Not to mention, at this point Axl was so tired he could probably fall asleep hanging upside-down from the ceiling if he had to. 

Their relationship had always been about figuring each other out and finding ways to compromise, ways to be considerate and treat each other gently because no one else would. Slash was a rock to Axl’s hurricane, steady and resilient and calm, caring even when he didn’t understand the tumult that surrounded his other half. If a lover by his side was what Slash needed to rest easily at night, then Axl was more than willing to provide.

“Well, I’m here now. Get some sleep,” Axl murmured into the pillow, but Slash was already dozing off in his arms.


	13. Skirts and Lipstick (Sluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is smutty! The request was for Duff and Slash fooling around in women's clothes and make-up.

“Yeah, sure.”

Duff gaped. Not in a million years did he think Slash would actually say _yes._

“You… You will? Are you sure?”

“Yeah… I’ll do it if you do.”

_Oh._ Duff flushed pink. So he wasn’t the only one who’d been inspired by that conversation a week ago… The one about makeup and women’s clothes – just for gigs, of course, like those glam rockers do. But it got Duff thinking, even though they agreed that dressing like chicks onstage wasn’t really their style, maybe they could still _experiment_ a little in private. For days, he couldn’t get the idea of Slash in lipstick and a skirt out of his head, and it seemed like Slash might have been stuck on a similar fantasy as well. 

So they took a few days to round up as much women’s clothing and makeup as they could (through questionably legal means, but it had to be done), then pooled their spoils and began the much more complicated task of figuring out how to put together _outfits._

They decided to choose each other’s looks: For Duff, Slash picked out a flowy sundress that was almost indecently short on the tall bassist. He added a shitton of silver necklaces and bracelets, and was meticulous and steady-handed as he did his best to apply Duff’s makeup. The only pair of women’s shoes they could find in his size was a pair of bright red heeled sandals, so Slash chose a lipstick to match and painted Duff’s nails black. 

While they had the supplies out, Duff helped Slash with his makeup (dark eyeliner and a glossy lip) and painted his nails blue. Slash modeled several items for Duff – a high waisted skirt, a ruffly gold top… He looked amazing in anything, and Duff drew out settling on the perfect outfit in order to spend more time watching him pose. Slash was happy to indulge him, he was enjoying Duff’s eyes on him – not to mention his own view of Duff’s incredibly long legs in that dress. 

Eventually, Duff couldn’t take it anymore: Slash was wearing a pair of little leather shorts over fishnet tights with a bikini top and gloves that reached his biceps when Duff finally walked him backwards to the bed, towering over Slash in his heels. When the back of Slash’s knees hit the mattress, he wrapped his gloved arms around Duff’s bare shoulders and dragged him down with him as he fell onto the bed. 

Duff disentangled himself enough to kneel between Slash’s legs, leaning forward to plant his hands next to Slash’s shoulders and take in the view of Slash laid out below him. Slash responded by wrapping his legs around Duff’s waist and pulling him closer, his fishnets imprinting diamond scales onto Duff’s exposed thighs. Being admired was nice and all, but Duff wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself for a second longer. 

Duff got the hint and bent down to kiss Slash, their lipstick shades smearing together. Slash tried to chase him when he pulled away, but Duff buried a hand in his curls, holding him in place while he made his way lower, scattering sticky red kisses and teasing touches across Slash’s torso, making him arch his back in pleasure. 

The final kiss left a red stain on black leather right over Slash’s cock. Slash squirmed, his voice beseeching as he encouraged Duff to keep going. Duff unzipped his shorts and simply tore the cheap tights to free his cock, too impatient to take everything off. Slash gasped appreciatively at the unexpected aggression, but before he could say a word Duff’s lips were wrapped around his head, tongue swirling as he gradually took Slash deeper. 

Slash’s satin fingers carded roughly through Duff’s hair as he moaned, and Duff groped Slash’s ass while he buried his cock in his throat, sinking his fingers into smooth leather and urging Slash to thrust into him. After so much foreplay, it wasn’t long before Slash was on the edge, his eyes fluttering shut and skin shining with sweat as Duff picked up the pace, eagerly bobbing his head even while Slash spilled down his throat with a loud, drawn-out moan.

Slash was still panting when Duff crawled up to straddle his hips and bent down for a kiss that tasted like cum and cherry lip gloss. He took a moment to catch his breath and admire Duff, who looked down at him with his lipstick destroyed and his hair a disheveled mess. Slash stroked his palms up and down Duff’s thighs, inching higher and higher until they slipped under his skirts and brushed against the edge of his lace panties. Duff was desperate to finally be touched, he whined when Slash’s fingers lightly grazed his cock and lifted his hips to grind into Slash’s hand. _“Slash, please.”_

Slash would have been just as happy to continue watching Duff try to hump his palm, but he couldn’t deny his lover anything so obligingly he pushed back his skirt, tugged the sheer black lace out of the way and very gently stroked Duff’s length with his satin-gloved hands.

Duff gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of soft, silky fabric, holding as still as he could under Slash’s caress so that the friction wouldn’t become too much. Slash didn’t tease him for long, after a moment he bit down on the tip of his glove, tugging it loose with his teeth before peeling them both off and _finally_ giving Duff the rough handjob he’d been pleading for.

Slash knew how to treat Duff the way he liked, with firm strokes and callused fingers that drove him wild. Before long, Duff was trembling and moaning with every thrust. “Are you close? Lay back, I want to suck you.” Slash wiggled out from underneath Duff and helped tug off his panties and toss them aside. 

Duff leaned back on his arms, his long legs folded back and splayed wide with his heels digging into the bedspread. His skirt was still gathered around his waist, leaving him completely exposed. The scene put a lusty grin on Slash’s face, and he maintained eye contact with Duff as he licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft before finally ducking his head and swallowing him down. 

Duff came watching Slash’s ass in skin-tight leather shorts, bouncing in time with each bob of his head as his damp curls clung to his arched back. Slash licked him clean before letting him up, moving aside and laying on his belly with his chin in his hands and his fishnetted ankles crossed above him as he watched Duff slowly stretch out his stiff legs and start undoing the straps on his heels.

“You look fucking amazing, you know,” Slash informed him with a smile. Even in a dress, even with his makeup smeared to hell and a bit of hair stuck to his lips, and _especially_ when he was relaxed and freshly fucked, Slash would always find Duff maddeningly attractive. 

Duff blushed at the praise. “So do you,” he responded, trailing his eyes appreciatively up and down Slash’s prone body. 

“I could probably get my hands on some more clothes next week. Maybe lingerie, definitely makeup. Y’know, if you think you wanna try this again sometime…”

Duff laughed, both eager and flustered at the prospect. “I think I’d have to be crazy to pass up a chance to see you in _lingerie.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated! I don't write smut very often so this was a bit of an adventure for me.


End file.
